Who am I?

"Sis, why do you think we're born different?" a child's voice, small and filled with a quiet wonder, broke the silence.

"I ask myself that too," came the reply, equally soft. "No matter how much Mama and Papa reassure us, it's clear we don't belong."

"But you know what?" the first voice chirped, a spark of enthusiasm igniting. "I like being a fox! I love that I can change into a human!"

A long, heavy silence followed.

"Sis?" the excited voice asked, concern creeping in. "What's wrong?"

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding.

"If, someday, we find the answer to why we're foxes," the second child finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, "let's celebrate."

Seven moons and seven suns had passed. The castle, a silent sentinel, stood as it always had. Life continued its predictable rhythm, a tapestry of varying perspectives and mundane routines. Emperor Jasper, however, had declared the palace temporarily closed for "renovations" after the recent unsettling events. In truth, he and Lucas had retreated to Jasper's secluded cottage, a place hidden from prying eyes, where Catherine lay unconscious.

The cottage, nestled near a village path, was a haven of invisibility, shielded from the wolf people's keen senses by Jasper's magic. Lucas had attempted to rouse Catherine with his own magic, but his efforts had been met with frustrating failure. Catherine remained trapped in a deep, unresponsive slumber. Lucas, smarting from the perceived humiliation, washed his hands of the matter.

Jasper, driven by a desperate hope, tried every remedy he knew: magical herbs, potent spells, even his own electrical abilities. But nothing worked. As days bled into nights, he was left with only one option. He summoned Wilbert, a renowned healer and psychic, a man of enigmatic origins whom Jasper distrusted, yet desperately needed.

Wilbert, a tall, white-haired man with piercing blue eyes, carried an air of ancient wisdom. His long grey beard and flowing robe, coupled with the ever-present brown traveler's bag, painted a picture of a wandering sage. Beneath his charming demeanor and gentle temperament lay a power drawn from forgotten lore.

He prepared to perform a "Force Revival," a dangerous spell gleaned from an ancient family tome. This ritual, capable of drawing spirits from other realms, risked opening a gateway to dark forces if not executed with absolute precision.

"Your Majesty," Wilbert announced, his voice steady, "I will begin."

Catherine lay still, her pale face stark against the white sheets. The room, small but comfortable, held only Jasper and Wilbert.

Wilbert held the ancient book, his gaze fixed on its faded pages. He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and deliberate, channeling his energy, sharpening his focus.

"Your Majesty, one last thing," he said, his eyes still closed.

Jasper, his expression a mixture of concern and weary resignation, turned to him. "What is it?."

"Have you prepared for the worst?" Wilbert asked, his voice low. "Though, I highly doubt it could reach this land."

"I understand the potential consequences," Jasper replied, his tone sharp. "Let's not waste any more time."

Wilbert nodded, his silence a testament to the gravity of the moment. He took another deep breath, centering himself.

"I call upon the soul of Catherine and her higher guides," he chanted, his voice resonant and clear. "I seek permission for her to return to this realm, to be reunited with her body. Let it be done if her soul so wishes."

The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. No spectral disturbances, no visible sign of the spell's effect, just an unnerving stillness. The tension hung heavy, a silent question mark in the face of the unknown.

Rain lashed against the windows, a dreary backdrop to my already dismal mood. An inexplicable funk had settled over me, a strange mix of unease and melancholy. Maybe it was the argument with George.

He was pushing for us to live together, a big step considering we'd only been officially dating for two months, after a year of him courting me. I hadn't told anyone yet, not even my closest friends, Isabella and Tom. The age gap between George and me was significant, and I knew they'd have opinions. But honestly? When I was with him, I felt safe, comfortable, happy. He wasn't your typical, flashy, attention-grabbing guy. Beneath the surface, I discovered a fellow nerd with a passion for the same odd interests I had. We clicked over psychological games, sci-fi novels, and, of course, art.

George was kind, well-mannered, and a hard worker—qualities I truly admired. But we clashed on this one thing: cohabitation. The idea was tempting, sure, but I wasn't ready. In my mind, moving in together was something you did after you were married, not two months into a relationship.

After the argument, I'd given him the silent treatment. Well, I hadn't spoken to him. He'd texted, but I just couldn't bring myself to reply.

Three days later, I found myself in the park, sitting on a bench, trying to sort things out. I’d just finished grocery shopping—the paper bag sat heavy beside me, along with my vintage red sling bag. I pulled out my phone. The screen flickered to life, revealing three new messages from George.

His profile picture, a small circle with his name beneath it, popped up.

"Hey, baby. I wanna come over."

"Is it okay?"

"I wanna talk some things through. I realized I need to clear the air."

I stared at the messages, considering my response. I knew we needed to talk about the whole moving-in thing. I couldn't let it drag on.

"Sure, come over," I finally typed. "Bring some food. I'm craving pesto pasta."

Back home, the apartment was empty. My sister, Amy, and our Aunt Cassie were out shopping. I unloaded the groceries, then sank into the sofa, staring at the ceiling, my mind a blank canvas. But I was also anticipating George's arrival. I needed to talk to him too. Hence, i used my phone to passed time for a bit, as i have no idea what to do now. I've already dropped out of college that only lefts me nothing to do. I'm grateful that my aunt and sister is supportive of me. Despite my conflicted relationship with my aunt in the past, I would never expext that she'll support me and still let me stay at the house without any consrquences.

The low rumble of an engine outside sliced through the quiet of my apartment, a distinct purr that could only belong to one car. A white Mercedes-Benz. I knew who it was even before I peeled myself off the bed and padded towards the door. No need for second guesses.

I twisted the handle and pulled the door open, stepping out onto the porch. George was just climbing out of the car, his head bowed. He looked up, his gaze meeting mine, and froze. We stood there, a silent tableau, until he finally crossed the short distance to the gate. It was a simple, low fence, more of a suggestion of a barrier than a real one. I unlocked it, my eyes on the ground, and swung it open.

He stepped through, and we were locked in another silent stare. I’d expected a greeting, something, anything, but the air hung heavy with unspoken words. My eyes drifted to the plastic bag he carried.

 Hopefully, it’s the pesto. I turned and walked towards the house, sensing him following close behind. I held the door open, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low.

I turned to face him. His expression had softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'm fine. And you?" I replied, my voice a touch too flat.

"I missed you," he murmured, setting the bag on the sofa. He took a step towards me, and then, without warning, he lowered his head and kissed me.

The suddenness of it took my breath away, but I kissed him back, our tongues tangling, a familiar dance. His hands cupped my cheeks, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, a surge of heat rushing through me, a primal yearning that threatened to overwhelm me.

But then, a flicker of memory, a promise I’d made to myself. Too soon. I pulled away, breaking the connection, and stepped back, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked at me, confusion clouding his eyes.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"I… I'm not ready," I said, shrugging, crossing my arms over my chest. "Not yet."

"Oh," he muttered, nodding slowly. "Okay. I understand." He looked away, then back at me, a faint smile returning to his face. "I just… I missed you, that’s all."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I sank onto the sofa, and he followed, taking my hand in his, his fingers wrapping around mine.

"I want to apologize for what I said last week," he said, his voice soft. "I know I shouldn’t have rushed you."

"Yeah, it’s… it’s okay," I said, meeting his gaze. "I just… I need more time."

He nodded, his smile widening. He glanced at the plastic bag, then stood up, retrieving it. "Hey, I brought the pesto you wanted. From our usual place."

"Yay!" I exclaimed, a childlike delight bubbling up inside me. I helped him unpack the bag, pulling out the familiar container of pasta.

The world swam into focus, my eyelids heavy, each lash a leaden weight. An oppressive energy clung to me, a residue of some profound ordeal. Every inch of my body ached, offering no solace upon waking. As my vision cleared, a strange room materialized before me, unfamiliar yet charged with an unseen presence.

"It worked, Your Majesty!" an aged voice declared, its tone a mix of relief and triumph.

"Are you alright, Catherine?"

Catherine? Where was I? Who were these people? Had someone called my name?

I strained to open my eyes, my thoughts a tangled mess. A masculine face swam into view, the owner of the voice. A flicker of annoyance, oddly familiar, pricked at me.

"Who…?" I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper, trying to decipher the figure before me.

"Catherine? Can you hear me?"

Then, clarity. I recognized him. The Emperor? My brow furrowed in confusion. Why was he here? What had happened? A fragmented memory surfaced, a fleeting image of… something.

"Catherine," Jasper said, his face close, but not too close. He wore a simple blue shirt and black pants.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I… where…?" I struggled to sit, my mind racing to piece together the fractured moments.

"You're at the cottage," Jasper confirmed.

 "Can you move?"

"No… I…" I mumbled, my voice fading. "Not really… I…"

"Take it easy," Jasper said, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll fetch some herbs, Your Majesty," a second voice, the old man, offered.

"Please," Jasper replied.

The old man, Wilbert, nodded and slipped out the door.

"What happened? Did I… die?" I asked, my voice weak, my body still heavy.

"No, you didn't," Jasper reassured me. "But you were ice cold when the guards brought you to me."

"Guards? Wait… I remember…" My words stumbled over each other as I tried to recall the events that had led to this. "I was… oh, right… I…"

"Your Majesty, I have the herbs," Wilbert announced, re-entering the room.

Jasper turned and reached for the bundle of herbs. "Give them to me."

"Emperor…" I mumbled, my voice gaining a sliver of strength.

"I don't need those," I said, my voice clearer now, though still tinged with weakness.

 "I'm fine, really. I just…"

"I just want to be alone," I finished, meeting Jasper's gaze.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Dear, you're still weak, anyone can tell that," Wilbert interjected, his voice gentle but firm.

"Fine," Jasper said, nodding slowly. "Call my name if you need anything."

He turned and walked towards the door, Wilbert following close behind. They left the room in a hushed silence, leaving me alone with my fractured memories and the lingering weight of whatever had transpired.

Lying there, strength slowly returning, I fixed my gaze on the ceiling. Now that I was awake, questions bubbled to the surface. I needed answers, and perhaps, I could even ask the Emperor for a favor. Though, I suspected that would be a feat in itself.

A more pressing question gnawed at me: why had he let me live? The wolf people clearly saw me as a threat, and any sensible ruler would prioritize their people's safety. Yet, here I was, alive, if not exactly thriving.

"Your Majesty, I believe my work here is complete," Wilbert announced, his voice brimming with pride. "The spell performed exactly as intended, to my complete satisfaction."

Wilbert and Jasper descended the cottage's small staircase, heading towards the front door.

"I appreciate your efforts," Jasper replied, his tone dry, though undeniably grateful.

They stood facing each other near the door.

"Your Majesty," Wilbert began, his voice laced with curiosity, "I don't mean to pry, but… why are you keeping her here?"

Jasper regarded him with a silent, unwavering gaze, his arms folded. He seemed utterly unperturbed by Wilbert's question.

"I wouldn't have expected you to develop a fondness for anyone new, sir," Wilbert continued, glancing up the stairs and back at Jasper, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I will call upon you again should I require further assistance with Catherine. You may leave," Jasper stated, his words clipped and dismissive, leaving no room for further discussion.

Wilbert gave him one last look, then nodded. He turned towards the door, but paused, glancing back at Jasper.

"I hope you've considered this thoroughly, sir," Wilbert said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "She might not fare well here. She won't last long."

With that ominous warning hanging in the air, Wilbert turned back to the door, grasped the knob, and exited, closing it softly behind him.

Jasper remained motionless, his expression blank. He took a deep breath, then turned and walked into the cottage's lounge area, settling onto a small couch near the bookshelves. He sank into his thoughts, a silent contemplation. Why had he kept her alive? A strange connection, a thread to the past, lingered between them. He remembered her, even after thousands of years.

"Why do you keep me alive?"

Jasper's eyes snapped open, his head turning to meet the source of the voice that had suddenly charged the atmosphere.

Catherine stood there, her once-tidy wavy hair now a wild halo around her face. She wore the same simple white dress, her expression devoid of emotion, a mask of suspicion and curiosity.

"Even if I gave you an answer, you wouldn't believe me," Jasper said, rising to his feet.

Catherine remained silent, their gazes locked. The unspoken questions hung heavy in the air, creating a tension that crackled between them.

"You said you knew me. I believed you," Catherine stated, her tone flat.

"I'm glad," Jasper replied, nodding.

"I don't remember our past, but I believe in past lives. Supernatural and inexplicable phenomena are not new to me," Catherine explained.

"I mean, I'm a nine-tailed fox," she added, a hint of wryness in her voice. "Back home, people would see me as a threat, a danger to society. If I were unlucky, I'd die at the hands of those who fear the supernatural."

Jasper watched her, then walked towards the sofa, closing the distance between them. Catherine's gaze dropped, then slowly rose to meet his.

"This isn't any different, is it?" she asked.

"You're not a monster, Catherine," Jasper said, his voice firm. "When I first saw you, thousands of years ago, you were human, not a fox. You were alone in the forest. You told me you were a runaway princess from a kingdom I'd never heard of. You'd fled your parents, who were forcing you to marry a noble king with a bad reputation, an abusive man."

"A princess?" Catherine asked, her brow furrowed. "So, I've been here before. Did I meet anyone besides you?"

"Indeed you did. My brother," Jasper said, his voice softening.

"Brother? You mean that guy who smiles like a… simpleton?" Catherine snickered.

"No, not him," Jasper corrected. "Dmitri."

"Who?" Catherine asked, her brow raised.

Jasper fell silent, his thoughts drifting. He took a step back, turning away.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Catherine waited patiently, sensing a shift in the atmosphere.

"Dmitri Nikolayevich," Jasper finally murmured, his voice slow and deliberate.

"When he saw you, he was captivated by your beauty. Soon after, he was hopelessly in love. You both got along well, as I expected. Dmitri always had a way with people, and you were no exception. You fell in love, and he even wanted to leave the palace to live a life with you outside the royal court," Jasper shared.

"Until one day…" Jasper paused, turning back to meet Catherine's gaze, his expression serious.

Catherine tilted her head, anticipation hanging in the air.

"Dmitri, for some reason, made a pact with what we called 'people from the sky'," Jasper revealed. "We soon discovered that he'd orchestrated the fires that nearly destroyed our lands thousands of years ago." His voice was laced with disappointment.

"He was the one who made you a nine-tail fox."

"Where's His Majesty?" Barbara asked Eddie, her voice laced with a hint of impatience.

They stood facing each other in the grand hall, the bustle of palace workers a muted hum around them. Servants scurried, polishing silver and arranging flowers, their tasks a constant, rhythmic counterpoint to the tension between Barbara and Eddie.

"I'm afraid I have no idea," Eddie replied, his tone flat, devoid of any helpful inflection.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Barbara pressed, her frustration mounting.

"I mean I don't know," Eddie retorted, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "He didn't say where he was going."

"Well, I need to speak with him. It's important. These past few days have been… disappointing. He's been avoiding me, or he's simply not in the palace."

 Barbara’s voice trailed off, a hint of wounded pride in her tone.

"And what is it you wish to discuss with His Majesty?" Eddie asked, his curiosity piqued.

Barbara hesitated, a flicker of indecision crossing her features. Should she confide in Eddie? The question hung in the air, a silent battle raging within her.

"Well?" Eddie prompted, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

"It's nothing. Forget it. I should get back to work," Barbara said, brushing him off with a dismissive wave. She turned and walked away, ignoring his puzzled gaze.

"What's gotten into her?" Eddie muttered under his breath, his brows furrowed as he watched her retreating figure.

Barbara made her way to the kitchen, a vast, opulent space of red and gold, its retro-luxurious decor a testament to the palace's grandeur. The air was thick with the aroma of spices and roasting meats, and the clatter of pots and pans filled the room.

"Barb?"

Barbara turned to the left, spotting Macy, a plump woman with blonde hair pulled into a neat bun and bright blue eyes. Macy, a fellow kitchen worker, had stopped washing dishes and was approaching her.

"What's up?" Macy greeted, her voice warm and friendly.

"Macy," Barbara acknowledged, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Work done?" Macy asked, her gaze sweeping over Barbara.

"Yes, I just finished cleaning the second and third floors," Barbara replied.

"Lucky you. I've got mountains of dishes still to tackle," Macy sighed, gesturing towards the overflowing sink. "Chef's been in a foul mood lately. His temper's been legendary, but it's been even worse these past few days."

"Why?" Barbara asked, intrigued.

"One of our colleagues hasn't shown up for five days," Macy explained, rolling her eyes.

 "Chef's furious, especially since he was his favorite. Apparently, he made the best salad His Majesty enjoyed."

"Oh, who is it?" Barbara asked.

"William Chase. Does the name ring a bell?" Macy asked.

"Oh…" Barbara paused, the name stirring a memory, a flicker of annoyance flashing across her face. "That… jerk."

"Did he do you dirty?" Macy asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Yes," Barbara admitted, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "He tried to court me, but he had 'player' written all over him.

 When I rejected him, he threw a tantrum and started calling me names."

"That explains the dusty aura he gives off," Macy quipped, nodding sagely.

"Exactly. I hope he doesn't come back anytime soon," Barbara said, a small laugh escaping her lips.

Macy chuckled in agreement. "Well, I'd better get back to work before Chef's voice reaches a dangerous decibel level. He's insufferable."

"Yeah, about that," Barbara said, her voice softening. "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?" Macy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you seen His Majesty anywhere?" Barbara asked, her eyes searching Macy's.

Macy paused, her gaze drifting as she tried to recall. "I'm not sure, girl. But you know what? I heard Chef was looking for him too. Apparently, he wanted to discuss something about the upcoming ball."

"I also need to speak with His Majesty," Barbara said quietly.

"Oh?" Macy said, her eyes widening with amusement. "Care to share?"

Barbara hesitated, then said, "It's just about the ball."

"Well, I should be going," Barbara said, excusing herself. "I'll talk to you later." She turned and quickly left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

"What did you say?" Catherine asked again, a subtle chill creeping across her skin. Her brow furrowed, a knot of confusion tightening between her eyes.

Jasper remained silent for a beat, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. It was a confirmation, stripped of any playful ambiguity. His gaze held hers, his long eyelashes fluttering almost imperceptibly.

"I... I don't understand. How could he? I was born like this. I come from a family of foxes," Catherine stammered, disbelief warring with a dawning, unsettling certainty.

"Hybrids of all kinds exist, that's true," Jasper began, his voice low and steady.

 "But what I'm telling you is that you weren't always a fox. He's the one who made you this way."

Catherine's head dropped, a whirlwind of fragmented memories and conflicting realities swirling within her. Frustration gnawed at her, a raw, disorienting disconnect from everything she thought she knew. She bit her tongue, a silent attempt to anchor herself in the chaos.

 "I..." she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "Then everything was a lie."

"So, does that mean I came from somewhere else?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

"Yes. Even when I first met you, I couldn't understand your origins, before you were transformed," Jasper replied, his words swift and precise.

"And your brother," Catherine said, her voice laced with a newfound bitterness. "What's his purpose in all this? Why did he do this to me?" Her voice cracked, a raw, uncontained surge of frustration. "All my life, I've lived in the shadows, forced to hide my fox self. I never belonged anywhere."

"No matter what I did, the eyes of the people around me always held a sense of isolation. They knew, somehow, that I didn't belong," she added, her voice thick with sadness.

Jasper simply watched her, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet sympathy. He allowed her the space to process the shattering revelations, the heavy silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken questions and raw emotion.

"You don't need to say that to yourself," Jasper finally said, his voice gentle but firm.

 "You're home now."